


My Love for Thee is White Like the Snow

by Elvesliketrees



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Boys Being Idiots, Hurt!Athos, Hurt!d'Artagnan, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oblivous!Athos, Oblivous!d'Artagnan, Protective!d'Artagnan, Psychological Torture, Torture, protective!Athos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to White Knight. The Comte de Vienne is dead. d'Artagnan is on the road to recovery with the help of his friends, but is all as well as it seems? Is the new Comte de Vienne as harmless as he seems? A d'Artagnan/Athos whump story!</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love for Thee is White Like the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Before going on, please be aware that all the events that this fic is based on occur in my story, "White Knight", and I HIGHLY recommend that you read it before continuing! Thanks to bbc_themusketeers for the sequel request! I wasn't originally going to a slash fic, but the idea came and it stuck! Warning for torture and psychological torture! Thanks for reading!

d’Artagnan grimaced as his muscles spasmed. He bit his lip, but a groan ground out despite the effort. Athos put a hand on his shoulder and massaged it. He threw a glare at Aramis, who tried to look as innocent as possible under his friend’s wrath. “I’ve got to see how extensive the damage to his muscles is! He’s been chained up for a year now, it’s not going to be easy, but you’ll thank me later when your muscles are strong again!” Aramis protested.

“He’s right Athos, pup needs to get his arms workin’ again,” Porthos intervened before the argument could progress any farther. Aramis shot the man a smirk and looked down at d’Artagnan.

“Last time was good, you almost had it! Just concentrate on flexing your fingers,” Aramis encouraged. d’Artagnan nodded and tried to do as the man said. White, burning, hot pain shot up his arm and he choked back a sob. He looked down and saw his fingers curl in towards one another. Elation shot through him, and his arm dropped to the bed with a thump. Athos smiled down at him and squeezed his shoulder. Aramis had him do the other arm and both his legs before finally being satisfied. Aramis gave him a smile and had Porthos fetch the pain medicine.

“Will he recover?” Athos asked.

“With plenty of rest, and as long as you don’t overreach yourself, you’ll be fine,” Aramis said with a happy smile.

“How long will I have to stay in bed?” d’Artagnan asked with trepidation. Maybe this good news would make Aramis alter the month’s long order that he’d made yesterday, when they’d returned. Aramis smirked and above him, Athos scoffed.

“You’ll still have a month to take it easy, though you might be able to go down to the yard next week,” Aramis stated. d’Artagnan tried to contain the pout that wanted to grace his lips. Porthos barked a laugh and Athos raised an eyebrow.

“Thought he’d get it easy!” Porthos chuckled.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of company,” Athos sighed.

“Yeah, probably be safer here for ya too, just until that bastard Vienne gets to the Chatelet,” Porthos grumbled.

“What did the Captain say, when you told him?” d’Artagnan asked.

“He was quite angry, but he believed us, if that’s what you’re asking. We all go to the king first thing tomorrow morning,” Athos said quietly.

“Treville’s already gettin’ volunteers to go to Vienne,” Porthos murmured.

“It was quite amusing, watching everyone fight over who got to go on a mission,” Aramis chortled.

“Will you three be going?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Yeah, me an’ Aramis will, Athos is gonna stay here with you,” Porthos replied.

“If you need to go Athos…” d’Artagnan protested. Athos snorted.

“I’m sure that Aramis and Porthos will do a fine job beating the Comte senseless without me. Besides, someone needs to remain behind and see that you don’t get into any more mischief,” Athos said with a smirk. d’Artagnan groaned dramatically and dropped onto his pillows.

“I’ll never be alone again,” he moaned.

“Nope!” Aramis chirped.

“Stuck with us, you are,” Porthos said with a smile. d’Artagnan grinned and peered at his three friends. A warmth filled his chest, and he knew that these three would always remain at his side, and he at theirs.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” d’Artagnan said quietly. Suddenly, he found himself with an armful of Porthos.

“We missed you, whelp,” Porthos whispered, “Life just wasn’t the same, after ya...left.” d’Artagnan looked up at Pothos with tears sliding down his cheeks.

“When I was there, getting back here was all I could think of. The Comte told me about the funeral, that you thought I was dead. I knew that I had to get back, had to get to my family,” d’Artagnan whispered. Slowly, Porthos laid d’Artagnan back down on his pillows. d’Artagnan’s eyes felt heavy, and he could barely contain a yawn.

“Get some rest, d’Artagnan, you’ve had a long day,” Aramis whispered. The young man gave a sleepy murmur, too exhausted to argue. He burrowed down into the pillows and Athos tenderly tucked him in. Soon, the Inseparables welcomed the sound of d’Artagnan’s deep and even breathing.

“Are we ever gonna stop wondering?” Porthos whispered. Athos looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are we ever gonna stop wondering if he’s really here?” he asked. Athos let out a huff and ran a hand through his hair.

“For myself, I know that it may be a good while,” Athos said slowly. Aramis nodded. Athos looked to his two exhausted companions.

“Aramis, I know for a fact that you were up early looking him over, and Porthos, you were up much later than the rest of us. Get some rest and some food, you have an audience tomorrow, and God willing a mission,” Athos stated. Aramis gave him a twenty minute lecture on do’s and do not’s before Porthos was able to hustle him out the door. Athos sighed and internally winced when he thought of the instructions he would receive from their well-meaning medic tomorrow. He’d probably have enough to fill a novel. In fact, that wasn’t a bad idea, considering that Aramis would skin alive for any missed instructions. He went to the window and watched as Porthos genially threw his arm around Aramis and walked to one of the taverns situated around the garrison. d’Artagnan snuffled in his sleep and wiggled a bit. Athos immediately carded a hand through his hair and murmured some soothing words. Any witness would have been astonished when the stoic man’s face split into a loving smile and a gentle hand ran along the Gascon’s cheek as the boy sighed. “Sleep, and let no dream plague you,” came the murmur. The slumbering boy turned into the warmth and made no more noise. Athos slowly withdrew his hand with a sad smile. He leaned back in his chair, losing himself to his thoughts.

A little over one year previous*

Athos watched as d’Artagnan walked out of the tavern. He allowed his gaze to watch the Gascon’s frame a little longer than necessary before letting his eyes turn their attention back to the wine glass. His thoughts were a little hazy. He yearned to go after the Gascon, tell him his true feelings, but Athos knew that that wasn’t meant to be. At first, Athos hadn’t thought much of the boy. He’d been polite, of course, he owed the boy his life. Yet, he hadn’t done much over that. He hadn’t invited the lad to the tavern, hadn’t tried to accept him into their small circle. That had been Porthos and Aramis. Soon, however, he found himself sitting next to d’Artagnan when they went to the tavern. The boy wasn’t afraid of silence, he understood Athos’ need for privacy, unlike Aramis and Porthos, though he knew that they only had his best interests at heart. Soon, he found himself looking forward to their training sessions, and also getting more and more worried over the pup as each mission came up. He swore he might have burst a vessel after the Vadim fiasco. And yet, he’d kept quiet. d’Artagnan was innocent, a good soul. While not naive in any sense, he didn’t deserve Athos’ demons. He didn’t deserve the drunken nights, the periods of blackness that sometimes drowned him, the blackness in his heart. No matter how much Aramis and Porthos had denied it, Athos was tainted, spoiled. He didn’t deserve someone as good as d’Artagnan. The only thing that would come of it would be a cold and empty bed and a broken heart. But Athos didn’t know if he could take it any longer. There was the warm brushes of shoulders, the adoring looks when Athos complimented him, the fact that he looked like he’d been kicked after a scolding. Athos knew that Aramis and Porthos teased the boy about Madame Bonacieux, but Athos had never seen anything beyond friendship. Were his feelings returned? But what if they weren’t? Athos’ heart ached from the want, the want to hold and to be held once more. To wake with a warm body next to him. Too often he’d dreamed of loving words and tender touches with his Gascon, only to wake up in tears and in an empty bed, head pounding from too much wine. No, he’d had enough of the yearning, the uncertainty. Tomorrow, he would tell d’Artagnan, and then Athos would inform Captain Treville that the boy would need a new teacher, for surely his feelings would be rejected. That night, he didn’t cry after his dreams, for he held onto the small hope that maybe d’Artagnan would say yes. His dreams shattered like glass when a hysterical Aramis burst into his room, sobbing about alleyways and blood and shredded clothes. Two weeks later, when Captain Treville had summoned him to his office, Athos’ heart felt like it was a hole. Even after Anne it wasn’t this bad. After Anne, he was cold, his heart was like stone. This time, his heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving a bleeding hole that nothing but time could bandage, though the hole would always remain. He’d told Treville that the boy was like a son to him, that seemed both appropriate and plausible. He knew the teachings of the church, and he refused to burn d’Artagnan’s good name, telling the truth wouldn’t bring his beloved puppy back, wouldn’t sew up the hole in his chest. When he stumbled back into his room, Aramis and Porthos began to bandage up his heart. And when he awoke from his dream, the dream of he and his beautiful boy curled up together in the sleepy hour just after waking, the bed wasn’t empty for once. Aramis and Porthos were there, they would stay, they would help. He opened his eyes and let his presence be known. He had a funeral to attend, and damn him if wouldn’t go and say goodbye to the only person he’d ever truly loved, and the last person he would ever truly love.

Present*

Tears slipped down Athos’ cheeks as his mind brought him back to the present. When he’d held d’Artagnan yesterday, he’d almost confessed his love then and there. But he knew that he couldn’t do that, d’Artagnan was sick and there were others around. He would wait, wait forever if he had to. He looked to the young man in the bed and saw that he was shivering. A sudden desire nestled into Athos’ heart. Maybe, just this once, he could hold d’Artagnan again. The night he’d killed the Comte’s son, he’d almost started crying for joy when he held the Gascon in his arms. Last night had been joyous as well. He knew that the lad was cold, and that the body heat would help. Slowly, he pulled him boots off and climbed into bed. He could feel d’Artagnan shivering and scolded himself for not keeping adequate watch. He carefully moved the boy over and took him in his arms. He burrowed into Athos’ neck and sighed in what could be contentment, though he didn’t stir. Athos’ heart warmed, and soon the boy’s shivers ceased. That night, he didn’t dream, there was no need, he had everything he wanted. As sleep slowly took over his mind, he sent up a little thank you to God for second chances.

d’Artagnan groaned and nuzzled into the warmth that was both next to and below him. He smacked his lips and grinned a little. It had been such a beautiful dream. He’d finally made his feelings known, and then he and Athos had gone to sleep, entwined in one another's arms. However, he’d woken up from enough of these dreams to know that they were about as real as Athos’ feelings for him, in a romantic way at least. His eyes shot open when he realized that the weight across his shoulder and waist was an arm. He woke to find Athos’ face a few inches from his. A grin split his lips. The sun was beginning to peek through the curtains in the infirmary, and Athos’ face was rippling with sunlight and shadow. It was probably the most accurate description d’Artagnan had ever thought of for him. There was darkness to the man, yes, but there was a great and shining light, which he stubbornly refused to see. But d’Artagnan knew that they could never be together. Athos deserved so much better than he, a young pup with no wisdom about the world. Athos deserved better, so much better. But that didn’t mean d’Artagnan wouldn’t take advantage of the few precious moments God decided to torment/gift him with. He placed a cautious finger to Athos’ lips, outlining them, memorizing their contours and the feel of them, for he knew that he would never get this chance again. He quickly withdrew his hand when he heard clumping up the steps. He quickly closed his eyes and feigned sleep. He heard the heavy clump of Porthos’ boots and the door creak open. He heard Porthos immediately shush Aramis’ chatter, and the door was eased closed.

“Oy now, ain’t that a sight to see?” Porthos whispered. d’Artagnan heard someone stoking the fire. He decided to make his presence known and stirred a little before blinking his eyes.

“Good morning!” Aramis crowed. d’Artagnan blinked and stretched a little in the bed, conveniently waking Athos before the situation became embarrassing. Athos started, staring around the room.

“Morning,” d’Artagnan greeted. Athos cleared his throat.

“Morning,” the man greeted, getting out of the bed. Soon, everyone was dressed and preparing to head towards the palace. Treville stopped by for a few moments to see d’Artagnan, but the Gascon shooed his friends and captain away after only a short while, knowing what a horrible idea it was to keep the king waiting. Sighing at the thought of hours of boredom, d’Artagnan was surprised when Serge came shuffling in and sat down in the chair beside the bed. The cook entertained the lad for a long while with tales of his friend’s adventures. The man then began to give the Gascon little messages from what seemed everyone in the garrison. To say that d’Artagnan was touched would be an understatement. When the man started to talk of lunch, d’Artagnan grasped his sleeve.

“Thank you Serge, for everything,” he whispered. The man gave him a soft look.

“You didn’t think that those three idiots would be the only ones to miss ya?” the man asked kindly. d’Artagnan smiled kindly at the old man.

“Of course not, thank you,” he said quietly. The man nodded and shuffled out. About an hour later, d’Artagnan was woken from his nap by a great commotion in the yard. He threw his blanket off and waddled out the door, careful on his shaking legs. He looked down from the balcony to find the Musketeers saddling horses and checking weapons. Bertrand, a newer Musketeer that was commissioned a few weeks before d’Artagnan, passed by him, and d’Artagnan seized his arm. “Bertrand, what’s going on?” he asked. The man gaped at him and smiled.

“King’s approved the mission! Was shakin’ with rage once Treville told ‘im what happened! The king’s called for his head!” Bertrand said with some excitement. d’Artagnan went over to the balcony and watched as fifteen of his brothers saddled up to deliver up his tormentor. The young man smiled. He heard Porthos bellowing at someone and Aramis laughing, but couldn’t see them in the commotion. Soon, he saw Captain Treville mount his white charger, and the others mount up behind him. He finally could see Aramis and Porthos saying goodbye to Athos. Just then, Aramis grew pale when he met his eyes. He said something to Porthos, who grimaced, but waved goodbye to the Gascon. d’Artagnan returned the gesture, only to see an irritated Athos stomping up the steps. d’Artagnan gulped and smiled a little shakily.

“So?” he asked, “The king?” Athos raised an eyebrow and unceremoniously scooped up the young man. d’Artagnan covered up the warmth that slid into his heart by harried protests. Athos didn’t deign him with a response, simply putting the Gascon on the bed, tucking him in, and building up the fire. He sat down heavily into the chair and looked at the boy.

“What did I say about getting into mischief?” the man sighed.

“That wasn’t mischief, that was exercise!” d’Artagnan protested.

“Then perhaps we ought to limit our exercise. Do you remember what Aramis said about overextending oneself?” Athos asked. d’Artagnan wilted under the man. Athos gave him a small smile and ruffled his hair. “I know what it feels like to be frustrated, but I won’t have you hurt yourself,” Athos sighed. Soon after,  d’Artagnan’s eyes drifted closed. Captain Treville said it would take about a week to get the Comte, two days for travel, and five to serve up the arrest if the Comte put up a fight, which the Captain thought that he might. However, those seven days did wonders for d’Artagnan’s health. Athos had taken him to the yard on the third day, and on the seventh, he let him run through some very basic training exercises. The session only lasted for about ten minutes, but still, the feel of the hilt’s grooves in d’Artagnan’s palm was like an old friend. He was beginning to sleep less and less, so Athos began to talk with him. He talked of his short time as Comte, a forbidden subject at any other time. He asked d’Artagnan about his life in Gascony, and d’Artagnan asked him about his adventures during the year, silently comparing his account to Serge’s. There were some details missing, though most of these consisted of injuries obtained during said adventures. He and Athos were laughing over one of Porthos’ escapades when the man himself came bursting into the room. His arm was in a sling and he looked exhausted. Aramis filed in behind him and flopped on his bed. “How was the Comte?” Athos asked.

“Well, we rode for about a day and then…” Aramis said dramatically. Porthos elbowed him and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Bertrand and Raoul are escortin’ him to the Chatelet as we speak, to await execution at the king’s pleasure,” Porthos informed them. A smile formed on d’Artagnan’s lips, and Athos looked at him understandingly.

“You didn’t think that we would actually let him hurt you?” Aramis asked softly.

“I was a year in that man’s clutches,” d’Artagnan said softly, “It takes a great weight off, knowing that he won’t be roaming free.”

“Well, he ain’t roamin’ free no more,” Porthos reassured him. Aramis then launched into a very complex and dramatic telling of the capture of the Comte de Vienne (“I am very sure that you did not attack the Comte with a flaming sword, Aramis.” “Who asked you Athos?!”). The next day, it was announced throughout Paris that the Comte de Vienne would be executed in six days for crimes against the King’s Musketeers. The Comte was allowed to sort his affairs in his own way, a gift from His Majesty for “many years of good service to the crown”. The estate would be left to the head of his household, a man named Marchand, as the Comte had no family remaining after the death of his son. Marchand appeared at court a few days before the execution, and would remain there until his Master’s affairs were sorted. Athos (who was now back on duty) described him as a quiet, but well-mannered, man. They discussed him as they sat around the breakfast table the morning of the Comte’s execution.

“So he’ll give us no trouble then?” Aramis asked. d’Artagnan rolled his eyes and smiled at the overprotectiveness.

“Why should he? He’s already admitted to the fact that his master was off in the head at his son’s death,” d’Artagnan observed.

“Those were words to the king, boy. What he feels might be somethin’ else,” Porthos replied.

“We will keep our guard up until Marchand returns to Vienne,” Athos said. d’Artagnan was about to protest, but one look from his mentor was enough to stop him. “We’ve already lost you once,” Athos said quietly, “And we refuse to run the risk of losing you once more.” That day, d’Artagnan clutched Athos’ hand as the Comte was led to the noose. He was so intently concentrated on the man that he didn’t see the smile flicker across Athos’ lips, or the strange looks Aramis and Porthos threw him. That night, the three of them played cards in d’Artagnan’s room. Tired from the day’s exercises, which were getting more and more strenuous, d’Artagnan dozed as the three men played. Soon, Athos wished his friends farewell, and Porthos cleared his throat.

“This thing, between Athos ‘n the pup,” Porthos said awkwardly.

“d’Artagnan is like a son to Athos, he said so himself,” Aramis dismissed.

“And sons grab their father’s hands, and light up any time that they come into a room,” Porthos retorted.

“And what of Athos?” Aramis asked.

“Yeah, the Athos who actually smiles for the pup, gets into bed with ‘im, and mourns his death like a grievin’ widow mourns for her husband?” Porthos asked. d’Artagnan flinched at this. Had Athos’ grief really been so bad? Was it possible the man returned his feelings? He felt the urge to scoff. Porthos and Aramis were mistaken, of course! Athos could never love him, he was a married man! No, Porthos was wrong. He heard Aramis let out a sigh.

“Even if you are right, my friend, Athos would never act on his feelings. His past still has too firm a grip on him,” Aramis sighed. Porthos grunted. Soon, he heard his friends saying goodnight, leaving a confused d’Artagnan alone with his thoughts. He didn’t sleep that night, and he was beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be better if Athos knew his feelings. As his rest neared an end, he and Athos began training more and more. His sword-work was nowhere near up to par, but he and Athos would just have to work harder to get it back to where it needed to be. To everyone’s relief, d’Artagnan’s period of rest went without incident. He was back to regular duty and progressing fine. Marchand returned to Vienne with his master’s body one week after his death. A month and a few days after d’Artagnan’s return, he and Athos were called up to Treville’s office. It was unusual for only two of the Inseparables to be summoned. The look on Treville’s face when they closed the door only increased their concern. Treville braced his hands on his desk and sighed.

“I received a message from Pesmes today. They have been harassed by bandits for about two weeks. At first, it was only a few items stolen from barns, but they have gotten bolder. They’re attacking travelers, five days ago they butchered a family returning to their home. The attacks have gotten bad enough that the village priest felt obligated to send one of the village’s young lads with a message,” Treville stated.

“Then why not go in force?” d’Artagnan asked, “If things have gotten so bad?”

“We don’t know their numbers or their hideout. Before taking care of them, I need the two of you to go to Pesmes, take a quiet look around,” Treville ordered, “When you have information, send someone back and help will be sent.” Athos nodded and the two of them clumped down the stairs.

“Where is Pesmes, I’ve never heard of it,” d’Artagnan observed.

“Its a tiny village on the edge of Vienne. I only know of it because we had to stop there when Porthos was wounded in an ambush, it was shortly after he got his commision,” Athos explained. d’Artagnan paled a little when Athos mentioned Vienne. The man shot him an understanding look and ruffled his hair. “We’ll stop at the edge of Vienne today, we can travel all the way through tomorrow,” Athos said. d’Artagnan sighed in relief, he didn’t relish the idea of camping out on the grounds he’d been kept on. There was no trouble from Marchand, there was no word from Vienne at all, but the nightmares still came. Instead of d’Artagnan being alone, Athos was there, or sometimes Aramis and Porthos. Every night, his friends died before his eyes. He was going on little sleep, but luckily any signs of his tiredness had not yet surfaced. Truth be told, maybe the mission would be a good thing, give him a chance to clear his head. He definitely didn’t consider the fact that he and Athos would have a day and a half to themselves out in the wilderness, not at all. Aramis pouted when they informed their friends they were leaving, and Porthos growled and looked at Treville’s office threateningly, but eventually Athos and d’Artagnan were off. Zad’s reigns felt a little heavier in the Gascon’s hands, and his legs were quite sore when early into the ride. Exasperated at yet another sign of his recent recovery, d’Artagnan was stubbornly quiet, though Athos gave him knowing and concerned looks. They finally stopped on the road when the sun began to go down. They were right at the edge of Marchand’s property, and they would reach Pesmes about midday that next day. Maybe if Athos had not been concerned about his young comrade, or d’Artagnan sore, they might very well have noticed the eyes watching them, and the figure pull itself from the shadow of the trees and sneak away. Oblivious to their discovery, Athos soon had a merry blaze going, and dinner was eaten in relative quiet. d’Artagnan wiggled down under his blanket. “If your legs permit us, we’ll reach Pesmes by tomorrow,” Athos teased lightly. His only answer was a crude gesture from d’Artagnan. The young Gascon was pleased to hear the choked laughter of his mentor. d’Artagnan sighed and finally drifted off to sleep. Then, the nightmares began.

_Athos stood in front the shaking Gascon, looking down at him with cold eyes. d’Artagnan whimpered as the stoic man looked at him with disgust. “You dare presume this? That you have my love?” Athos scoffed, “You disgust me. Your vile thoughts could not be farther from the truth. You deserve to be here, to suffer. Murderer.” With that last spat word, the man turned on his heel._

_“Athos!” d’Artagnan screamed, “Athos I’m sorry, please, please just come back!” d’Artagnan tugged on his chains, and finally they came free with a yank. The boy took off down the corridor, reaching the yard of Vienne. There, the Comte de Vienne stood with Athos in front of him, a dagger to his throat._

_“Murderer,” the Comte hissed as he drew the dagger across his love’s throat. Blood ran in rivers down Athos’ neck, soaking his shirt and running down his doublet. d’Artagnan rushed forward. The last look his love gave him was one of revulsion. d’Artagnan looked up at the Comte, and to his utter disgust, pleaded with him to finish it. A flashing pain came across his cheek, then another._

“Come on now boy, wake up!” the voice of Athos cried.

“No...dead...please,” d’Artagnan whimpered brokenly. d’Artagnan felt his shoulders being shaken.

“Come on now,open your eyes, it was only a dream,” Athos soothed. d’Artagnan’s eyes blinked open to find Athos kneeling over him. As soon as he opened his eyes, Athos sighed and pulled the young Gascon into an embrace. d’Artagnan wasn’t sure how long he was in Athos’ arms, being rocked gently and soothed, but eventually a hand tipped his chin up. Concerned blue eyes looked down into his.

“It was nothing,” d’Artagnan sighed.

“Yes, the screams alerted me to that instantly,” Athos remarked dryly.

“You die. You all die, you, Porthos, Aramis. In my dreams, you’re all there, and you leave…” d’Artagnan whispered brokenly. Athos sighed and pulled him closer.

“We’re all here, mon ami,” Athos said quietly, “We didn’t leave, you’re not alone. It’s alright if you have nightmares, you were held captive for a year and tortured! Quite frankly, I’m surprised this hasn’t come up sooner.” d’Artagnan smiled and berated himself. Of course Athos wouldn’t judge him, the man knew more about demons than anyone! After a moment of quiet, Athos cleared his throat. “We’ll need to be up early tomorrow, well today,” Athos observed. d’Artagnan nodded and climbed back under his blanket. Soon, he was deeply asleep, dreams plaguing him no more. When he woke to Athos shaking his shoulder, the sun was already up. He sighed and stretched.

“Should have woken me earlier,” d’Artagnan groaned.

“You were tired,” Athos responded simply. d’Artagnan smiled and started to dress. To their displeasure, they would be posing as two brothers looking for a farm while they were in Pesmes. Their cloaks, pauldrons, and doublets would be hidden in their saddlebags. Athos soon left to go get firewood. Soon, d’Artagnan heard steps behind him as he was packing the last of his things. He was completely unprepared for a heavy object to come crashing down on his head. He gave a cry before his arms were clenched in an iron grip.

Athos had a small armful of wood when he heard the yell. Dropping his load, he drew his rapier and sped into the clearing. Ten masked men were in the clearing, one having a fist in d’Artagnan’s hair and a dagger to his throat. The men were all in farmer’s clothing with masks around their faces and hat on their heads. Athos steeled his face, hoping that the complete and utter panic he felt wouldn’t bleed through.

“Release him now and you may be on your way,” he ground out levelly. d’Artagnan’s head was bleeding and his eyes were glassy, but they were focused on his mentor.

“‘Thos,” he ground out. The man holding him yanked his head back and pressed the dagger further into his throat, a trickle of blood appearing on his throat.

“I will tell you one last time, release him!” Athos commanded. One man yelled in triumph and held up d’Artagnan’s pauldron, Athos grimaced. “We have nothing of value. Assaulting the King’s Musketeers is a crime worthy of death,” Athos said, “Let us go, and none of this shall be spoken of.”

“It won’t be spoken of if you don’t return,” one man drawled. Athos’ heart crashed into his boots, these men never intended to let them go. “Drop your weapons to the ground and he won’t get hurt,” the man, who seemed to be the leader, commanded. Angrily, Athos tossed his rapier to the ground. He held up his hands as one of the men came forward and undid his weapons belt. d’Artagnan looked at him guiltily. Athos shook his head lightly. This wasn’t the boy’s fault, it appeared that these men had been waiting for them. He cursed himself for not keeping watch on the road. Athos wondered why they made no move to bind his hands when a heavy weight crashed onto his head. He heard d’Artagnan’s body thud to the ground before the world when black.

When Athos woke again, it was to a dark room. A single torch guttered in a bracket. His hands were tied above him and his ankles were lashed tightly together. He struggled a bit in his bonds, but the only thing it got him was some skin off of his wrists and ankles. His head pounded and his arms were already numb, be had to wonder how long he’d been in this position. d’Artagnan! He looked around the room as much as his position would allow and finally found the Gascon to his right. He was slumped on the floor, his hands chained on either side of him and his ankles lashed together. Athos shivered and grimaced with he found his boots, tunic, and trousers discarded on the floor. The only thing he was wearing was his smallclothes and his thin undershirt. A groan from the Gascon wrenched Athos from his thoughts.

“d’Artagnan? Wake up now boy,” Athos said quietly. d’Artagnan thrashed a little, but didn’t get far. To Athos’ anger, his chains only gave him about a half a foot’s worth of length. The Gascon’s eyes blinked open and Athos sighed in relief.

“‘Thos? Wha’?” d’Artagnan asked confusedly.

“You’re alright, just stay still,” Athos soothed, “I know about as much as you right now.” Their curiosities were soon assuaged when voices came down the hall. Athos straightened and d’Artagnan shimmied back against the wall. The door opened and Marchand and two guards stepped in. Athos really ought to have known. Athos raised an eyebrow at the man. “Release us now and we’ll mention none of this...inconvenience,” Athos drawled. Marchand laughed and looked at them both.

“We both know that you would go running back to Paris and blab! Besides, I made a promise to my master for justice!” Marchand laughed.

“The bandits at Pesmes…” Athos said.

“Are as of today disbanded, they served their purpose. I was surprised you came this early! I was thinking that I would have to take the whelp in the commotion with the bandits when you came to capture them, but this was so much easier!” Marchand crowed.

“What do you want with us?” d’Artagnan growled.

“Know now that we have no information or possessions of value,” Athos said forcefully.

“The only thing I want is a confession from the brat,” Marchand said as if he’d just invited the two men to tea.

“d’Artagnan has done nothing,” Athos growled protectively.

“It was self defense, please, you have to believe me!” d’Artagnan pleaded. Marchand tsked and shook his head.

“One way or the other you will confess. I’ll give you two the night to discuss things, but you will confess tomorrow,” Marchand stated. He turned round and walked out the door with his guards. “They’re not to have food or water, and no one is allowed in that room without me,” he commanded. The door slammed and d’Artagnan slumped down with a shaky breath. Athos painstakingly turned his head to look at the boy.

“Please d’Artagnan, whatever happens, you must not confess! You did nothing wrong, and they will only kill you (please don’t make me watch them hurt you I can’t take that please I love you please don’t confess you’ve done nothing wrong)!” Athos wasn’t ashamed to admit he pleaded.

“And if they hurt you?” d’Artagnan whispered, “Am I supposed to let them do that? I can’t watch them do that Athos!” Athos swallowed hard and looked down at the boy, because damn him he was in love and he wouldn’t let him die.

“Even if they take my head from my shoulders,” Athos said levelly. d’Artagnan shook his head vehemently.

“No, no, I can’t, I won’t!” he panicked, “I’ll tell them I did it…”

“No!” Athos thundered, “You’ll tell them that it was self-defence and you’ll keep telling them that!” Harsh? Absolutely, but Athos was a selfish man, and he would give his own head before delivering up d’Artagnan’s. Wracking sobs were heard from d’Artagnan’s spot. “d’Artagnan lad, look at me,” Athos whispered, the boy acquiesced. “This. is. not. your. fault,” Athos stated clearly, “Repeat that to me.”

“But!” d’Artagnan said vehemently, to which Athos shook his head.

“Repeat it,” Athos said.

“I killed him!” d’Artagnan sobbed.

“You did, but that does not mean it was murder. Repeat what I said,” Athos stated, d’Artagnan was going to do this.

“I killed him, but he deserved it, oh God Athos, I shot him because I had to!” d’Artagnan sobbed. Athos sighed, now they were getting somewhere.

“And?” the man asked.

“This isn’t my fault,” d’Artagnan whispered. Athos raised an eyebrow, damn him if d’Artagnan didn’t have this pounded into his head when they were done. “This is not my fault,” d’Artagnan stated gravely. After a small time, d’Artagnan’s sobs quieted. Athos knew that he would probably die tomorrow. He knew how men like Marchand worked. He looked down at the Gascon. He had to know, he had to.

“d’Artagnan?” he whispered, and damn him if he didn’t sound vulnerable. The snuffles stopped. “You and Constance Bonacieux?” he asked, trying to find the words.

“We’re just friends,” d’Artagnan admitted quietly. Athos’ heart crashed against his chest.“‘Thos?” came the question.

“Yes, pup?” Athos asked, getting a snort from the nickname Porthos had beat the boy over the head with.

“After your wife...do you think you could love again?” d’Artagnan asked. Athos’ heart stopped. He took a deep breath. “If you don’t want to answer…” d’Artagnan said softly.

“Yes,” Athos said quickly, before d’Artagnan thought he was wrong in the asking, “Yes, I could (please, please, just give me a chance, I can).” He heard d’Artagnan shuffling, the chains clinking. No. No, he wouldn’t make d’Artagnan watch him being tortured, along with the fact that he knew Athos, pitiful man that he was, loved him. “You ought to sleep,” Athos whispered lowly, brokenly.

“Goodnight,” d’Artagnan whispered.

“Sleep d’Artagnan, I’ll keep watch,” Athos replied. Soon, the Gascon’s soft breaths filled the room, and Athos kept watch. He memorized everything about the boy, the way his hair curled around his neck, the way he snuffled in his sleep, the sound of his deep breaths, the innocent look he had while he slept. And when Marchand walked into the room that morning, Athos was ready. d’Artagnan received a kick to the ribs to waken him. Marchand knelt in front of him.

“Confess?” he asked. d’Artagnan spat in his face. Athos was quite proud. Marchand unlocked d’Artagnan’s chains and handed him a whip. A cat of nine tales. Oh no. No. The rope lashing d’Artagnan’s ankles was cut, and he was yanked up.

“Twenty lashes,” Marchand instructed, “You’ll switch hands after ten.”

“No!” d’Artagnan cried, “No, I won’t, you can’t make me!”

“Any more protests and I’ll give him forty, and please be sure not to hold back,” Marchand said nonchalantly. d’Artagnan gripped the whip and looked back at him. Athos nodded, hoping he didn’t look panicked. d’Artagnan crossed behind him and started behind him. And it hurt, oh did it hurt. After three, he started screaming. After four, d’Artagnan was sobbing, pleading. But he didn’t confess. When they were finally at twenty, d’Artagnan dropped to his knees and gripped his hair.

“Please, please, it was self-defense!” d’Artagnan sobbed, “Please, you must believe me!” Marchand had him chained back to the wall.

“You’ll pay for this,” Athos hissed, “I’ll make sure that you burn in hell!” Marchand only smirked. He asked d’Artagnan to confess, which he didn’t. Each denial was a punch, a kick, a cut, or later, a burn. By the end, d’Artagnan was screaming, and Athos was in a haze. A hand gripped his chin.

“Ask him to confess and this pain will end, all of it,” Marchand said quietly.

“Burn in hell, you bastard!” Athos hissed, spitting in the man’s face.

“What a biting tongue, we’ll have to teach him a lesson,” Marchand observed. d’Artagnan whimpered. One of the guards left and returned with a hot knife, a big knife. No. No. Oh God. No! One of the guards gripped his hair and pulled his head back. The other handed the knife to Marchand and forced Athos’ jaw open. The man thrashed, but Marchand only advanced.

“No! Wait! Stop, stop please!” d’Artagnan screamed. Athos tried to shake his head, but it was held tightly. “Please, just let him go, I’ll confess!” d’Artagnan sobbed. Athos tried to tell him no, but all that came out was a moan. Marchand knelt down in front of the boy.

“I’ll release your friend, if you confess right now,” Marchand said quietly.

“I did it, I murdered him, I murdered the Comte’s son,” d’Artagnan said slowly. Marchand nodded.

“Cut him down, we’ll give them a few minutes for goodbyes,” Marchand ordered. Athos was dropped down to the ground and his ropes were slashed. Tears flooded into his eyes. He crawled over to d’Artagnan, gripped his face with both hands.

“Why?” he whispered brokenly. Tears appeared in the Gascon’s eyes.

“I don’t care Athos, I won’t watch this. T-Tell Porthos and Aramis that I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Tell them yourself, we’ll get you back,”  Athos said desperately. d’Artagnan shook his head.

“No!” he protested, “You won’t come back here, not ever!” There were footsteps outsides. Their time was up. d’Artagnan would die. This was it.

“I love you,” Athos whispered, “I love you, I’ll come back and you’ll be fine…” d’Artagnan looked at him with broken eyes. He leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips to Athos’ in a gentle kiss. Athos’ heart thudded to a stop and he looked at the Gascon with pleading eyes.

“I love you, more than life itself. Take care of yourself Athos, everything will be alright,” d’Artagnan whispered with small smile. Marchand and three guards walked into the room. Athos braced himself in front of the Gascon, a snarl on his face. Marchand only laughed. His arms were seized by two guards and he was pressed to the floor. His hands were lashed tightly in front of him. His back throbbed and he felt blood on his shirt. He was yanked up and spared d’Artagnan one last look.

“I will kill you for this!” Athos roared as one of the guards tied a piece of cloth tightly over his eyes. Thrashing, he was forced up some stairs. And what felt like outside. He heard a primal howling, and was shocked when he realized when it was him. He was forced into the air, into a saddle. A whinny was heard under him. Roger! His hands were lashed to the saddle horn and they were off. Athos’ back hurt like nothing else, and he was wracked with shivers. He only stopped screaming threats when they threatened to gag him. Finally, after what was a day’s straight riding, they stopped. His hands were cut and something shoved into his hands. He heard galloping behind him and he yanked the blindfold down. He saw that Zad was next to him, saddlebags on his back. Athos bit back a sob. Paris was in front of him. He looked at his fingers and feet, which were blue. Swearing, he spurred the two horses into the city. The world was hazy, and he heard what seemed to be Aramis yelling when he fainted.

Hot, too hot. Where was d’Artagnan?! Where was he?! d’Artagnan! He heard roaring, only to find out it was him. He struggled, had to get his love! d’Artagnan! Arms tried to hold him.

“Athos...calm...please...hurt…!” one cried (Aramis?).

“Calm...where...Athos!” a second cried (Porthos?).

“Athos...give up...soldier…” came a third (Treville?).

“d’Artagnan!” he howled. Finally, some clarity, though his eyes refused to open.

“Where, where is he?” Treville demanded.

“Vienne...Marchand…!” Athos gasped. He heard Porthos growl.

“Assemble the men!” Treville yelled to someone.

“Athos calm down, it’s alright!” Aramis commanded, “I need the tea!” Something was forced down his throat, and darkness returned.

When Athos next woke, it was to quiet voices. “Put him in the bed with Athos,” one sighed. Aramis?

“He’s hurt bad, ‘Mis,” Porthos whispered.

“You saw how he was when he woke up last! This might calm him down,” Aramis sighed. Porthos grumbled, but a warm weight was settled down next to him. Dreams flew fast and thick. Aramis above him, spoon feeding him broth, Treville talking quietly to Aramis, Porthos running a hand through his hair, d’Artagnan asleep beside him. When he truly opened his eyes for the first time, it was sunny. Birds sang and the sun streamed in through the curtains. It looked like he was in the infirmary. He felt a warm weight at his side and turned. There, nestled beside him under a thick shield of blankets, was d’Artagnan. A bandage was wrapped around his head, and his face was mottled with bruises. His arm, splinted, lay on his chest. His hand was wrapped in thick bandages. Through his shirt, Athos thought he might see a burn wound. As for Athos himself, everything seemed to ache. Athos moaned, and d’Artagnan’s eyes blinked open.

“‘Thos?” he gasped, “You’re awake!”

“How long?” Athos croaked.

“Aramis said two weeks, I only woke up yesterday,” d’Artagnan sighed. Athos looked pointedly at his bandages. “You got them in time, any later and I would have been dead,” d’Artagnan sighed. Athos smiled. “How could I possibly thank you?” d’Artagnan purred. Athos smiled and tentatively traced a hand along his cheek. “You should have told me,” d’Artagnan whispered.

“Scared,” Athos whispered, and oh how that hurt to admit. d’Artagnan gave him a smile.

“Can’t say it wasn’t for the same reasons here,” he replied quietly, “But that doesn’t matter now, we’re together now, it’s going to be alright.” Athos nodded. “Please don’t do that to me again,” d’Artagnan whispered, “You had hypothermia, and it turned into pneumonia, and your cuts got infected.” A hand to d’Artagnan’s lips stopped any worries. Athos drew his hand back with a gasp when a tongue traced his palm. d’Artagnan giggled playfully and Athos smacked him on the shoulder. Slowly, tentatively, he pressed his lips to d’Artagnan’s. Warmth filled his heart, and he smiled. When they broke apart, Athos gently pulled d’Artagnan into his arms. The boy turned and nuzzled into his neck. Athos was sure he was grinning like a loon. He looked up when he heard a creak. Aramis and Porthos were standing at the door.

“Hello,” Athos said almost shyly.

“Erm…” Aramis said eloquently. Porthos’ eyes looked like they might bug out of his head.

“‘Lo,” the big man said quietly, looking down at his feet. d’Artagnan choked back a laugh.

“Go to sleep my love, I’ll be here when you wake,” d’Artagnan whispered. Athos’ eyes drifted closed. And for the first time, he knew that the bed wouldn’t be empty when he woke.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think, I love hearing from my readers!


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